Bloodstream
by the bee movie
Summary: 'She was his fire and throughout their entire relationship she was always red-hot with his affection.' One-shot.


_This is how it ends_

_Fading out again,_

_I feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream_

_So, tell me when it kicks in_

* * *

Fourteen painkillers was excessive but so was the open wound itself. It was a lyric cut off by the margins of a torn out notebook page and it was the levitating _why _that echoed inside everybody's minds but never vocalized when you said a close friend had committed suicide.

It never rained when it was supposed to and meteorites bellowed into Earth at the worst times. The days passing her supreme death were sunny from the Milky Way to Andromeda and he swore to the deity who didn't exist that time tripped on it's way up the stairs and fell backwards because the sun rose hour after hour to remind him that she was gone and his days were now composed of nothing but watching hell heating up.

He liked comparing his life to space and the distance above now because that was what she had always done. One of the many nights she bled tears she said that she could never be heroic because she was Pluto and she was too far gone to be apart of the important lives being stretched out like a rubber band before her. She babbled with her teary eyes and he held her hand then said that she was his Venus, every tablespoon of love and every scoop of passion that he conjured within himself belonged to her. She was his fire and throughout their entire relationship she was always red-hot with his affection.

The morning cartoons produced for toddlers were her favorite thing to watch because as a child she never could. When he left for his morning shift he would wake her up to tell her Blues Clues was on and most of the time she stirred herself back to sleeping on her back but a few times a week she carried herself to the screen and soaked in as much joy as possible, content with camouflage sweatpants hung loosely on her hips. She never ate breakfast so when he returned he spoon-fed her his promises and she gulped them down with a glass of cold milk. When they fought she purged those same poems from the lips that were made for him and he would cry, choking them down to remind her that he was a tea kettle and she was the burning flame that kept him smoking while he ran down the city streets coated in nothing but how much he adored her.

Now when it was seven am and Nickelodeon was starting their Spongebob marathon he tended to skip over his shifts. He would scribble down every word that reminded him of her and tape them to the wall of his apartment with pink duct tape because pink was always her favorite color.

She was his everything and even as a ghost he found her in all the places he visited. Cloudy days were a displeasure because grey was the color of her skin in both life and death but nights were almost just as bad because they met when the sky shone navy with a fluorescent sphere hugging Earth's gravitation and it was the very same color the night she left. He hated sunny days because the sun didn't set for three days after her funeral so when he cried there was no rain to hide his tortured self.

The first few weeks of their bond was made official was rough because after hunting down her heart for four months he finally held it in his hands like a gem and started wearing it around his neck everywhere he went. Except he had never bothered to learn the word _taken, _it was foreign on his tongue, and she snapped a finger to his wrist every time he called another girl beautiful. While he spun them on their tippy-toes he told her he loved her for the first time and she said she could never believe that when eight other women knew the year he was born and what kind of movies he liked. To counter he said that she was his favorite movie and he would never stop watching her since those other girls were miniscule and irrelevant compared to the way his heart beat when her name came up in simple conversation.

When they made love for the first time, he told her how he had spent his entire life running towards nothing and now that he'd finally found what he was looking for, he would slow down whenever she couldn't keep up. She refused to take off her shirt for about ten minutes because she had never gone past an A-cup and insisted her body wasn't nearly as impressive as her winning personality. When she caved in like an ocean wave her whole demeanor came crumbling down with it and with every pause of their sheets she whispered that she had never loved somebody like she loved him and he sang true to her like a golden instrument.

The morning he returned from the hospital he sawed their bed in half and in doing so, tried to saw half of his heart out from his chest. His ribs cracked wide open and it felt like he was burning alive because his Venus had exploded and shattered the Earth with its ashes.

The day she started drinking coffee was the first time he saw her in nothing but a form-fitting tank-top and basketball shorts. She was wearing yellow slippers that were tearing at the heel and four sizes too big because they were his and he wanted her to always wear him like he wore her. He watched her pencil collarbones, never before noticing that they were obviously fish leaping out from a pond, ending in jagged curves similar to a cul-de-sac. Her thighs were the size of mushroom trunks and her waist could coil itself into a pole if she tried. He asked if she was eating enough and she exhaled that before her conversion, she was living in poverty and the five men she lived with managed to always snatch the food she had retrieved from the grocery store before she even awoke the next morning. From that day on he fed her five meals a day until her spine stopped showing through sweaters and when she groaned about gaining twelve pounds he kissed her forehead and ordered another pizza.

He told her that they were two veins that crossed into an artery on their first Valentine's day. She paused Titanic, stared up at him while wrapped in the embrace she nicknamed home and said that wasn't even close to correct but she loved him anyways. She called him a dummy between kisses and left a little piece of herself on his tongue every time their lips met. Now he wished maybe he hadn't let her slip into him so easily because she was too hard to wash out. Soap couldn't cure the pounding inside his head and no matter how many times he conditioned his red locks they looked like a familiar bubblegum in his bedroom lighting.

When she was standing in the doorway of his apartment for the first time she said maybe this would never work out and maybe she should leave, return to kicking buckets full of one-hundred dollar bills but he grabbed the hem of her dress sleeve and pulled her back into him because he didn't have her yet and her entire being made him lovesick. She looked so distressed as she explained how she was terrible, how she was bad luck, how she could never do what he did and certainly never do it as well as he did. At the time all he said back was the complete opposite to her remarks but one year later on Christmas he signed her card with a heart and whispered in her ear that she was good, she would always be good, she didn't change for him but she changed for herself. She replied by saying she never needed him but she still wanted him because he was the most enticing boy she'd ever gotten a taste of.

Now that there was an unwavering vacancy in his home he never dared to crack open a window because her perfumes were still underneath the sink in the bathroom. He used one of them to freshen up his room at five am; it helped him sleep when there was celestial body lying next to him. Sometimes it helped to think that the body found at the crime scene wasn't hers and one day she would trek back to the home, hair grown out long to reach her waist and curl in on itself at the tips. She would sling her arms around his neck like so many times before and kiss his cheeks, spitting out apologies that evaporated from the humidity of the two together, like things were supposed to be. The closet was full of her clothing but he could never look at them without screaming so he bought blue drapes and hung them over the space. Blue was slowly becoming his favorite color because it wasn't pink. She never wore blue because it didn't match her eyes.

He remembered every time she asked what she would do if they came after her, if they tried to make her pay for betraying her team, but he had always flicked the idea off with his middle finger, telling her she was just paranoid and to go back to sleep. When he was sick with the flu, she took over his new night shift and that was when they attacked. In any other place, five dimwits wouldn't have gotten their grimy hands even close to a knife but in this particular world they did.

She was gone and so was he, pretty soon. It had been a year since she'd been killed and not one day passed when he could look at his reflection without imagining his love bouncing up to him, catty eyes narrowed in concentration, mouth slightly open waiting to laugh at whatever stupid thing he would say next, arms crossed over her chest until he untangled them and set them at her side while he framed her face to kiss her. He couldn't look at other girls on the streets or on the teams because if he saw someone beautiful he would want to kill himself for even threatening the fact of her being the only one he wanted. It was back to how it was before the navy skies, before the containment and the rapture except now he was the one lost and misguided and she was nowhere to be seen. People like Raven and Robin offered to chat about it but he barely ever spoke to anyone unless it was the photograph hung with the back of the frame facing him in the empty kitchen. Every month he would turn it around when he felt he was about to burst with as much force as the eruption that totaled the dinosaurs and told her how much he despised life without her. He told her how even though they hadn't spoken in awhile he had pretend-conversations with her all night long. He told her how she was still his Venus, except her fire had burned out and his puny kettle-self was freezing. On the last day he inscribed a heart near the bottom of the photo with a pink sharpie, one he had hidden inside the closet with her clothes.. He kept the photograph in his hands when he took his final breath inside his bathtub and sprayed the remains of her perfume on the mirror. If the pills didn't kill him, the overdose on Candy Night by Victoria's Secret clearly would. He burnt her clothes in the chimney in sync with his suicide because he wanted her to die with him, a second time.

''Once I am with you again, maybe the sun will finally set.'' he murmured, not bothering to look out his window when there was nothing there other than a dull black sky. When the burning in his stomach blew out like a fuse, so did his heartbeat.

* * *

**Since it isn't really clearly stated in the story, this is somewhat of an AU in which the HIVE murdered Jinx for betraying them for the Titans. Somewhat unrealistically dark, I know, but I kinda wanted to do something which involved Jinx dying and this was the only scenario I could think of.**

**I know I have a series of one shots going on right now, and I _might _upload this as a new chapter of that, but to be quite honest I don't really think it fits the mood for that fic at all.**

**I wrote this in a little more than an hour, and it's three am, so I apologize if it's awful.**

**The song I used is Bloodstream by Ed Sheeran. I don't own Teen Titans in any way, shape, or form.**

**Hope you enjoyed, guys. **


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